5 / Terreille

Daemon glided into the breakfast room but stopped just inside the door when he saw Leland and Philip engrossed in quiet conversation. Philip’s back was to the door, and as he talked, his hand moved gently up and down Leland’s arm. Leland’s eyes, as she listened to him, were lit with the fire of a woman in love.

She was dressed in riding clothes, her hair pulled back from her face in a simple, becoming style. Yes, underneath the frills and fripperies she wore for the society ladies beat the heart of a witch.

As Leland smiled at something Philip said, she looked over his shoulder and saw Daemon. Her eyes became chilly. Stepping away from Philip, she went to the buffet table and began to fill her plate.

Philip’s eyes became hard when he noticed Daemon, but he managed a smile and a courteous greeting.

Well, well, well, Daemon thought as he filled his own plate. Something was in the wind. He was supposed to go riding with Leland that morning, but he noticed Philip was also dressed to ride.

Breakfast was over and Leland had left for the stables before Philip spoke directly to Daemon. He sounded like a polite host dealing with a not-quite-welcome guest. “There’s no reason for you to go out, unless you want to, of course. Since I’d planned to ride this morning, Lady Benedict doesn’t require another escort.”

Or a chaperon, Daemon thought as he sipped his coffee. Overnight Philip’s attitude had changed from terse and jealous to this attempt at courtesy. Why? Not that it mattered. He knew exactly what he would do with a free morning—and it would be free with Leland and Philip out of the house. Alexandra was visiting a friend and wouldn’t be back until after lunch, and Robert, always so occupied with his all-consuming “business,” spent as little time as possible at the estate.

In fact, as that delicious dark scent once again permeated the walls of the Angelline mansion, Robert seemed more and more uncomfortable about staying there. It had reached the point that Daemon always knew when Robert came back even if he didn’t see him because, in the front hallway and on the stairs leading up to the family’s living quarters, there was always the slight stink of fear.

Daemon poured another cup of coffee and shrugged in response to Philip’s suggestion. “I don’t mind not riding this morning,” he said in his bored court voice. “Most likely you’re a more enthusiastic rider and would therefore be a more suitable companion.”

Philip’s eyes narrowed, but there was nothing in Daemon’s silky, bored voice that gave any indication of an intended double meaning.

Daemon smiled and reached for another piece of toast. “You shouldn’t keep the lady waiting, Prince Alexander.”

Philip hesitated at the doorway. Daemon buttered his toast with slow, sensuous strokes, knowing that Philip was watching him and uneasily imagining something other than toast beneath his hand. Well, if Philip actually believed someone like Leland could make a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince pant, the fool deserved to sweat.